The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars

by C. L. Schneider

  “I was too. In a way,” I said, recalling the eldring’s memories. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you. It doesn’t to me, either. But the Shinree and the eldring are connected. The Crown of Stones, that cave you found, and the columns the Kaelish pulled out of there and stuck in their castle, are all part of it. Chances are, with my family history, if something big took place, a Reth was smack in the middle of it.”

  “Forgive me, but…” Pausing, Liel struggled to follow me. “In the middle of what?”

  I leaned over and ruffled his fluffy hair as I stood. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  THIRTY

  “Not that I’m complaining…” Breathing heavily, Krillos released his grip on the iron wheel bracketed to the cave wall. Wincing and shaking out his hand, he looked at me with a creased forehead and tired eyes. “But I guess your new pets forgot to tell you about the gate blocking the tunnel. Not sure how it slipped their minds,” he went on, shoving sweaty curls back from his eyes with a wrist. “Seeing as the damn thing’s ten feet high and thick as a tree.”

  I passed my torch off to Liel. “This wasn’t here when the eldring came through. It must have been put in after.” Stepping closer, I examined the gate and the simple pulley system that opened it. The metal was dull. Rust was flaking off the bolts. The chains going through the gears didn’t look any better. Neither did the identical mechanism affixed to the wall on the other side. “This has been here a while. A long while,” I said, not liking the implications. “The memories the eldring have of these tunnels must go back farther than I thought.” I tossed Krillos a glance. “Before my father resurrected the eldring, did you ever hear of one being sighted in the west?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then how did they get here? And what were they doing in the keep?”

  “That’s a puzzle for solving once we’re on a ship heading away from Langor. Until then, if you don’t mind…?” Krillos held up his stump. Having lost his tusks in the forest, he’d once again outfitted his sheath with eldring claws. As he waved them at me, I wondered how many sets he had in reserve. “Some help might speed this along.”

  “Sorry,” I winced. “Liel and I can do this.”

  “Hell no. I got more muscle in one finger than that skinny runt has in both arms. So get over here, Shinree, and let’s get this done.”

  I moved into position. Krillos took firm hold of the wheel. I stood opposite him, with the gate at my back, and grabbed onto the iron wheel with both hands. We planted our feet. He pulled. I pushed. We put everything we had into it. And our combined effort had no effect on the rusted gears.

  We readjusted our grips and tried again. Leaning in, boots sliding in the dirt, chest and back aching, muscles burning, my mind went instantly to magic. Just a small boost, I thought. I have to do something. There was no way I was turning back.

  The obsidian stirred beneath my skin, warm and persuasive.

  I thought of the scars on my face and struggled to ignore it.

  Finally, the wheel moved, and I let out a winded laugh of gratitude.

  It was short lived. The gate’s progress was unbearably slow and loud. Producing an irritating, high-pitched grinding that ricocheted down through the darkness; the chain creaked and groaned as it slid through the worn teeth of the gears.

  Glancing at the wall beside me, I looked for a way to lock off the wheel. There were holes where something might have once been affixed to the stone. But whatever device had been in place to keep the gate open wasn’t there anymore.

  Panting, I threw a look at Liel. “See if we can make it through. Then find something to we can use to lock off this chain.”

  Liel shoved his torch into the dirt and dropped to the floor. He tried to stuff his pack through. “It’s not high enough.” He watched the gate rise bit by bit. “A little more and we can crawl under.”

  “You maybe,” Krillos griped. “I’m a mite bigger than that bag of yours boy.”

  Eye level with the gate, Liel shook his head. “Keep going then.”

  Something hit the top of my boot. I looked down to see one of the bolts had sprung free of the mechanism. “Liel…”

  He put a hand out. “Not yet.”

  Another bolt popped out. It landed in the dirt beside me. The wheel wobbled as it turned. “It’ll have to do,” I told him.

  “Almost…”

  The chain links wrapping around the wheel were widening, pulling apart from the strain. “Now, damn it.”

  “Wait…” Liel squeezed himself under. “Okay. That’s good.”

  A third bolt wiggled loose. Links were opening.

  The chain broke with a snap. I shouted, “Liel—move!” as the wheel spun out of Krillos’ grip. I tried to hold on, to give Liel time to shimmy back out.

  I might as well have been trying to stop a mountain from falling.

  The wheel tore at my hands. Pain erupted in my arms as I pulled; struggling to counter the weight long enough for Liel to get free.

  My boots lifted off the ground. I let out a cry of effort that must have echoed through the tunnel for miles.

  I couldn’t hold it.

  “I’m out!” Liel hollered. “Don’t let go!” Scrambling to his feet, he rushed up and pulled the sword off my back. “Watch it,” he said, as he shoved the weapon through the chain and into the hole in the wall directly above my shoulder. Wedged into the crevice where the original tie-off device had once been, the steel brought the gears—and the iron monstrosity—to a grinding halt no more than a breath before the wheel flew out of my bleeding hands.

  I fell back against the wall. Sliding down with a wheezing grunt, a deep twinge rippled across my back. My arms felt too heavy and limp to move. I watched my hands shake as the blood leaving my shredded skin wet the sandy ground between my boots.

  Krillos ambled over. He dropped his heavy pack beside him and crouched down. He motioned at me with an irritated wave. “Let’s see what you did to yourself this time.”

  I jerked my head in Liel’s direction. On the ground, immersed in a heavy swell of dust, he was digging in the sand under the gate, trying to make us more room. “Not bad for a stowaway.”

  “It was quick thinking, I’ll give him that. Smart too.” Krillos placed my arms across my knees, one at a time, and turned them over. “Smarter than you,” he added, “trying to stop that behemoth on your own.” Retrieving a flask from his bag, he used his teeth to pop out the cork. “Maybe this will remind you not to be so stupid next time.” Krillos upended the container over my torn skin. I flinched, and he watched me push the breath out through clenched teeth like I deserved it. “So, this is it.” He put his flask away. “I’m declaring this mission officially doomed.”

  Shaking off the pain, I loosened my jaw. “That’s a bit cynical, Captain.”

  “Why would I be cynical? Just because you can’t hold a sword.”

  “I can hold a sword.”

  Krillos laughed. I expected he had more to say, but he turned his attention to my wounds. Taking a small roll of cloth from his pack, he ripped two pieces off and wrapped one around each of my hands. Bending over me, holding a section of the bandage in his mouth, Krillos tied off the ends. When he was done, he raised his head and gave me a long, icy stare. “How’s that feel?”

  “It’s good.”

  Krillos pulled one of the short swords from the belt around his waist. He shoved the weapon hard into my bandaged right hand. “How about now?”

  Swallowing a groan, I folded my fingers around the hilt. “Fine.”

  “Keep it then. Since yours is occupied.” Standing, he glanced at the wall where my second sword was lodged in tight. “You’re better with two than I am, anyway.”

  There were no prints in the sand. Intricate webs stretched between the walls. They were the only evidence that any living thing had been through the area in years. Here and there, the tunnel branched off. A few crevices in the walls were big enough for a man to squeeze through, but I didn’t cons
ider any of the dark, dusty offshoots. I had complete confidence in the route we were taking. The smell, the feel of the rocks, the damp, earthy taste to the air; I remembered it all. I knew the scores in the wall, the dips in the floors, and the bumps in the ceiling. Being privy to the contrasting angles and views of all the eldring that had ever come through here, I recalled the place with uncanny detail. I couldn’t deny it was helpful. It was also disturbing.

  Needing a distraction, I glanced back at Liel. “Describe the lay out to me again.”

  “Well,” he started slow, “as you know, the prison was converted from the older, closed-down sections of the mine. The whole place is hollowed out, full of chasms and bridges. Some chasms are so deep, they say if you fall in, you don’t hit bottom for days.”

  “Bullshit,” Krillos muttered. “I’ve seen men fall into one of those so-called bottomless pits. They all found the bottom.”

  “How do you know?” Liel asked.

  “I heard their heads crack when they hit.”

  No doubt picturing it, Liel went on. “The forge is at the heart of it all. There’s multiple ways in and out. A set of stairs leads up to the keep. The garrison is right there, too. That’s a lot of guards to deal with. If Jarryd’s working in the forge, it’s best to wait until his shift is over.”

  “What about the cells?” I said.

  “They aren’t cells,” Krillos butted in again. “They’re holes.”

  “It’s true,” Liel agreed. “They’re dug right out of the walls and the ground. The locks are decent. We’ll have to lift a set of keys. According to our spies, there’s at least two guards posted at each section of cells and two more at each bridge. At least one makes regular rounds at the start of every hour.”

  “The bridge guards could be a bitch to take out,” Krillos offered. “The crossings are narrow. And while they’re not bottomless,” he shot a glance at Liel, “they are deep.”

  “Anything else about the forge?” I asked.

  “The fires burn nonstop,” Krillos said. “It’s like living inside a fucking oven.”

  “They work the prisoners day and night,” Liel explained. “Most of them don’t make the end of their shift before they pass out from heat or exhaustion. And if they don’t make quota, the guards—”

  “I get it.” He was only trying to help. But I could fill in the details myself.

  “The kid’s right,” Krillos said. “The guards are brutal. But they aren’t a vigilant bunch. Unless there’s a new batch of prisoners arriving, or a visitor to impress, their laziness will be our advantage. Their advantage is numbers. It won’t take long for reinforcements to arrive if we screw up. Because, make no mistake, one misstep, one sloppy moment, and we’ll spend the rest of our fucking lives in this godforsaken place, and I am telling you, Troy…” Krillos hesitated, and it hit me how few times I’d heard the man waver in his words. “I won’t be a prisoner here ever again.”

  I whipped around to face him. “Do you think I would let that happen?”

  “I think you would do anything to get your friend back.”

  “Not at the cost of two more.”

  Thrown by my assertion, Krillos smiled. “I believe you. I believe you mean that right now. But you see Jarryd’s confinement as your fault. And that guilt is what blinds you to the risks you’re taking with all our lives.”

  Any protest I made would be all anger and no resolve, so I didn’t bother. “Damn it, Krillos. He shouldn’t be here.”

  “None of them should. No one deserves what goes on here.” Holding my gaze, Krillos let out a grunt. It was a dismissive sound, like he knew the argument was lost. “Jarryd Kane is one lucky son of a bitch to have anyone care this much.”

  I blew out a breath. “When this is all over, you and I will come back here and unlock each and every cage. But I need Jarryd out. I need the balance our connection brings me, now more than ever.”

  “I get that. But what I don’t get is how you’re doing it. The prison you were in was no better than this. How can you come here and not feel the panic crawling cold up your spine? How can you not want to run?”

  The answer was simple. “Because Jarryd wouldn’t.”

  “Then I guess you’re a lucky son of a bitch too. Because the closer we get to the keep, the closer I get to going back…the more I feel like a goddamn lamb leading himself to slaughter.”

  I stared at Krillos; no words coming. They were hindered by the fear lurking beneath the scars on his face. He shouldn’t be here, I thought. “If you knew you couldn’t handle it, you should have told Malaq no. You should have told me no.”

  “If it was anyone but you, Shinree, I would have knocked them flat for even suggesting it.”

  I hoped he was joking. “You don’t have to do this. You can turn back.”

  “Course I’m not fucking turning back. But if I’m marching into that hell hole for you, Troy, you’re going to do something for me.” Krillos looked me right in the eyes. His fear was gone. The level-headedness I saw there was just as worrisome. “If this doesn’t go our way, if it looks like they’ve got us…I want you to kill me.”

  “What? Come on,” I groaned.

  “I’d rather die by your hand then live out the rest of my days in theirs.”

  “No way. You’re fucking crazy if you think—”

  Krillos clamped his hand on my arm. “They can piss on my remains all they want. But don’t you dare let them have me alive.” He squeezed. “Promise me.”

  “I don’t like being cornered, Krillos.”

  “And I don’t like being tortured. Promise me.”

  I yanked out of his grip. “There was a time I would have gladly killed you.”

  “Wasn’t ever going to happen, Shinree, so get it out of your head.” At my glare, he smiled. The expression waned quickly. “Say it.”

  I growled instead. Then I shook my head. There was no way out. “I promise.”

  Nodding, Krillos backed off. He turned away, looking satisfied, and I stared after him with my oath sinking like a rock into my stomach.

  It sank farther as Liel said, in a quiet, awkward voice, “Promise me, too.”

  Infuriated, I snarled at him. “No.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’m not like you. I couldn’t survive in a place like this. I couldn’t take it.”

  “You don’t know that,” I argued.

  “Yes, I do.” Liel gave me firm look. “And so do you.”

  I ran a hand over my face. “All right,” I shrugged. “It’s settled then. If it comes down to it, I’ll fucking kill you both. Now let’s move.”

  THIRTY ONE

  I sank to the ground. Krillos was already there. Gasping, he swiped an arm over his forehead, mopping up the sweat. “Fucking heat.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “Fucking smell.”

  I commiserated with a groan and shrugged the pack off my shoulder. We’d been walking for hours. My shirt was soaked. My boots were wet inside, like I was back slogging through the swamp. I pulled a skin of water from my bag. “The last time the eldring came through here, they were in a herd. The ground gave way. It left behind a great abyss. I think it’s close. Do either of you know it?”

  Blonde curls plastered to his face, Liel shoved them off as he nodded, “The Gullet. It’s where the keep dumps its waste.”

  Drinking, I stopped and swallowed. “That’s what we’re smelling?”

  He nodded again. “Buckets, bodies, whatever is left over, whatever they don’t want, or can’t use, gets swallowed by the Gullet. That’s what the guards say anyway.”

  “Oh, it’s true,” Krillos put in. “I’ve hauled more buckets there than I care to remember. But we’re on the wrong side of it. We’ll have to go across.”

  “That’s a damn big hole,” I said to him.

  “It is,” he agreed. “But someone’s put in a bridge since your beasties came through and broke the floor. Not sure how safe the thing is. It’s old.” I must have looked a little too relieved
at his news, because he added soberly, “Really fucking old. But at least there’s a nice soup down there to cushion our fall.”

  “Don’t joke. It’s bad enough I remember the eldring falling to their deaths when the chamber collapsed. I don’t need to remember yours too.”

  Krillos gripped my shoulder. “That was truly touching, my friend.” He laughed as I shrugged him off. “So, did you figure out what the hell they were doing here?”

  “Possibly. Some of their memories are still jumbled and incomplete, but I get the feeling they lived in two separate groups. One was raised in the empire, in captivity. My people domesticated them and trained them to work. Those were the eldring that were here, digging out new sections of the mine. They never hunted. They were fed. It was no more than scraps,” I said distantly; seeing it now. “Maggots crawled on the bits of rancid meat they were given. The men that fed them would piss in their water.”

  Krillos grunted. “Sounds familiar. It also sounds like what your father is trying to do now. Only he’s using them as trackers and soldiers instead of labor.”

  “Huh.” That was a connection I hadn’t put together. “He must have gotten the idea in one of his past visions, when he was looking for information on the crown.”

  “You mentioned another group of eldring?” Liel said then.

  I glanced at him. I hadn’t realized he was listening. “They were different.” I thought a moment, remembering the comfort they drew from feeling the soft soil beneath the pads of their feet, the thrill of the wind rushing over their pelts as they gave chase. The fleeting ecstasy of penetration as flesh gave way and warm liquid rose up to slake their thirst. There was only one word for it. “Wild.”

  “Well,” Krillos sighed as he stretched, “if the ancient Shinree owned eldring, I’m not surprised. After all, they owned us.”

  The conversation was about to take a bad turn. “I’m going to scout ahead.”

  Putting the skin back in my bag, I left them. I didn’t have to go far before the stench worsened considerably. I hit the end of the tunnel and rounded a bend that ended at the edge of a vast chamber. Six paces in, there was no floor. The ceiling was too high to see. As the room opened up, the walls widened. A tunnel was on the right, about halfway in. Dark and full of webs, the inaccessible shaft clearly hadn’t been used since the ground collapsed. Carved into the opposite wall were five man-made chutes, one on top of the other. Their purpose was obvious by the glops of waste oozing off the rims. From four, it dribbled out in unpleasant colors to stain the rock below the openings. The fifth trough had a heavier flow, as a thick fall of sewage rushed over the lip and hit the ‘soup’ below with a nauseating plop.